The Black War of Essos (Game of Thrones Parody)
by DarkeningMuffins
Summary: Essos is Westeros, after 10,000 years. Old houses have been left behind, forgotten, while new ones are made. This is the era of Essos.


**The Black War**

_Eru Aerenor_

Eru walked over to the balcony, surveying the scene below him. Lords and their spawn clambered into his castle, along with their guardsmen, maesters, and other mindless followers. When they left his hallways would be littered with sh*t and be stinking with bile. Still, how could he deny the coming of King Durinn to his House of Aerenor?

Marching down the turrets, he stepped into the vast dining hall.  
"Nice to see you again Eru!" A muscular man stepped into view from the doors, sweaty and red-faced. He gripped Eru in a tight embrace.  
When Eru wriggled out of his hands, he bowed and proclaimed, "Your Grace, it is my pleasure."  
"No it's all mine!" Shouted the king. "Let's get started, shall we?"

They rode around the Aerenorian lords-wood. King Breraen Durinn smiled at Eru.  
"Finally, a relaxing time with my friend, rather than an uncomfortable wagon ride with my little princes of crap."  
Eru hid his grin, out of respect for his grace.  
"I can't wait to get to bed Eru, I swear my wife's heart is out of it. I heard House Reedwood will be coming too and they certainly have the best whores. They actually make their brothels look good!"  
"See here, Your Grace, said Eru. "What about the business with House Califax?"  
Breraen frowned. "Yes, I know what you speak of Eru. Those bastards. They've gone to far I say. It's been a millennium since they rebelled and became a house and they still want more. Chief Advisor to the king, to me! I must say! I was considering House Reedwood, or maybe this one, now that Lord Grehirus is old. He's senile, I tell you."

Eru bit into the honeyed piglet, savoring it's succulent flesh. The first feast of the week was a success. He sat beneath King Durinn, across from his comely wife. He watched as his eldest son, Fingolfin, took the hand of Lerida Durinn, a daughter of the King and led her away upstairs to his bed. Breraen laughed racously when noticing that. Luckily the groans couldn't be heard from Fingolfin's room. Eru glanced at his wife, stiff-faced and straight-backed, like a steel blade. She met his gaze and smiled, arousing him. A glint behind her, he assumed, was part of her dress, gleamed suddenly, and he saw naked steel.  
A lady screamed and fell of her chair, flipping her skirts, King Durinn's knights leapt in front of the royal family, yet no one was there for Eru or Haldris, his beloved wife.  
"YIELD!" Commandant Ser Daeron, the leader of Eru's Aerenorian Blades, dashed forward slamming his sword into the murderer's. Blade's spun through the air and within a few seconds, Daeron had cut off the man's sword hand. Planting a foot on the impostor, with a sword and his face, Daeron spoke. "Who are you, to threaten and attempt murder upon the king, a lord and their wives and children!" Eru saw the man's shield lying several feet away.  
"He's from House Califax." He said, in a commanding voice. "Was it Gordon Califax who sent you?"  
The murderer's eyes watered, "I'll die if I tell you, and die if I don't."  
King Durinn's wife stood up, "he'll be tortured."  
Eru spun around in surprise. "My queen, torture..."  
She cut him off, "tortured, Lord Aerenor, tortured." She stared at her husband with a ferocity and he heaved a sigh. "He must be, I'm afraid, Eru, I command it."

Eru slept peacefully, in his wife, on their bed. Wine drowned out all that happened from yesterday. When he awoke, he heard the trumpets of Reedwood and leapt out of bed. Peering out his window, he saw Lord Reedwood looking up at him.  
"Having fun?" He bellowed up to Eru.  
Yesterday was just the beginning...

_Fingolfin Aerenor_

Fingolfin walked briskly through the castle to his brother's dwelling.

"Kendrin?" He called out.  
There was no reply, only ear-shattering silence. "KENDRIN!"  
Kendrin, peeked his head out a corridor to the left of his room. "Sorry brother, just a little swordplay." Kendrin was always interested in blades. He was big and burly, with muscles that belonged to a man of twenty, not a child of ten and one. He was already taller than Fingolfin, who had the looks of the family, with light brown, wavy hair, bright eyes, and a sly smile he reserved for his favored women.  
"Want to join, Fin?" Kendrin asked. Fingolfin grinned, at the use of his nickname.  
"Sure, little brother, I'll play, just don't think you'll win."

The swords clashed in the indoor training post. "Guard up, m'lord!" Boomed Ser Welgon Gradius.  
"And we all know how much you like defense, Ser! Replied Fingolfin, sweating as his brother pressed him, spinning his sword in a pinwheel of death.  
"Thought I'd let you beat me, Fin?" muttered Kendrin. "What a funny idea." Fin eyed him, backing up, then came down in a wicked overhead, using his long arms as extra reach. Kendrin brought his sword up and blocked, while Fin forced down. With all his might, Fin brought the sword up and down again, shattering his brother's blade.  
"Nice try Kendrin-."A scream shook Fin's head, coming from Kendrin.  
"MY FINGER, MY FINGER, OH DAMN! MY FINGER!"

Fin sat in the infirmary with his head bowed. Eru looked down upon him, with righteous fury.  
"Fin... LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM SPEAKING TO YOU!" Eru bellowed with anger. Fin snapped his head up.  
"It was an accident father."  
"I know." Replied Eru. "That's is why I haven't tanned your backside yet. However, if you continue with this carelessness and insolence..." His voice trailed off.  
Fin stared into his father eyes, deep blue and sad.  
"What with that assassin and the torturing, I can't have your mother or myself worried about Kendrin." Whispered Eru. Fin turned his gaze to the sleeping Kendrin and at his pinky finger, the end of his red and bloody, with about half an inch gone.  
"Father, what of the assassin?" Fin asked suddenly.  
The Lord of Aerenor regarded his son apprehensively, then led him out the infirmary and away from the old maesters.

Beneath the dungeons, Fin viewed the would-be-killer.  
"He's already admitted that he worked with one of the houses. We just don't know which." Eru informed.  
The man, hung by his ankles, flayed and bloodied. Fin couldn't hold the look of disgust from his face.  
"Kill him and be done with it father, you've gotten what you wanted, you know a house is a traitor."  
"The Queen wants more, Fin, she was offended, and she's a forceful woman. This isn't making Aerenor look good in the eyes of Reedwood or Durinn." Eru answered.  
"Then we defy the Queen." Replied Fin, "it's only one small action, it won't hurt, shall it now?"  
Eru glanced at his son, stroking his light brown-haired chin. "Small actions grow son, they grow."

_Daeron Culvin_

Commandant Ser Daeron Culvin was freezing. Lord Aerenor had ordered him to man the battlements with other guardsmen to ensure the safety of the castle.

_My arse certainly won't be safe after this though. _Daeron was a humorous man and often thought in such a way. He realized how strange this weather was for Aerenor all of a sudden. Aerenor had a reputation for sunny and bright lands and hardly ever snowed as heavy as this. Daeron snapped his head and a sound of a shout. A guardsman had seen two figures, one bearing the coat of arms of Durinn and the other of Reedwood.  
"What say you?!" Shouted down Daeron. "What brings you to Aerenor at this time?"  
"We bring news, news of treason!" Yelled back the Durinn messenger, his voice just heard above the roaring winds. "King Durinn has been sent a messenge that we deliver! Open the gates!"  
Daeron eyed the men warily from the frozen castle, a hundred feet up. Then he turned to his men.  
"You heard them, open the GATES!" The last word he shouted, to galvanize them into action. "AND PUT YOU ARSES INTO IT TOO!"  
Ever so slowly, the iron gate of Aerenor roze, white with ice, giving the metal a strange blue glow, the color of House Aerenor's flags. Gazing down upon the messengers, he felt the wind swirl upon him and the snow touch his face like the fingers of a seductive goddess. Marching down the turrets, Daeron went out the meet the messengers, both covered in furs, fit to burst. The beards hung with icicles and one had clearly pissed his pants to warm himself, as his pants around his manhood were now frozen yellow.  
"We bring news, Ser, of House Califax and Narule, for the King." Said the Durinn messenger. He held up a letter, it's edges frozen. It bore the seal of Durinn and had the signature of King Durinn's father written upon it.  
"Well then," spoke Daeron, "give me that and I shall bring it to the king, my good man. This will give me a chance to warm my arse and manhood. Ears too."

In the castle of Aerenor, within the great hall where the feast had been eaten last night, Daeron watched as King Durinn paced back and forth, with Lord Aerenor standing behind him.  
"Your Grace." Eru sighed. "Why can we simply not muster our forces and begin attack on Califax and Narule before they have a chance to react. Surely, if these houses are trying to style themselves as the new king of the Seven Kingdoms, they must be committing the highest order of open treason."  
"Alas, Eru, they have foreseen to that. They claim that my right to king is questionable, ever since Gordon Califax captured the throne temporarily, a few years back. I cannot go to war for no reason with them because they will then have proof that I only want the throne for my own gain and should not sit upon it."  
Eru nodded bleakly and Daeron watched with a sinking feeling. Even the torches seemed to dim with the gravity of the situation.  
"What with this rebellion while my son is injured and my wife in shock, Your Grace." Eru said morosely. "I cannot have a free time to think."  
King Durinn smiled, more of a grimace than anything else. "Eru, Reedwood came yesterday, did they not? I did not even remember them being here with all the commotion. Inform a servant to lead Oberyn Reedwood here."  
Eru turned to a serving-man behind him and spoke quickly, before the servant walked off at a brisk pace.  
Daeron talked once more as Oberyn Reedwood entered the room. "Your Grace, perhaps if we were to try and get Califax's and Narule's bannermen to marry our daughters, we could form an alliance against the rebellious houses?"  
The king shook his head, "these bannermen would get orders from the Gordon to simply use our daughters as hostages, Daeron."  
Then it was Oberyn's turn. "Your Grace, perhaps if we used the murderer sent by House Califax and Narule as proof for their treason. A lord aiming to kill another lord is a cause for war after all."  
Daeron grinned at this. Leave it to the Lord of Reedwood to find the way. Well-educated and intelligent, he was one of the best battle strategists in his time. Coupled with his own personal knight, Ser Quilton the Indomitable, who was the most feared knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms, the Reedwoods were a very strong house indeed.  
"BRILLIANT, OBERYN! SIMPLY BRILLIANT!" The king obviously loved this idea. "What a mind you have. The one and only mistake Gordon Califax made so far."  
Daeron raised his eyebrows and then listened to his own lord, Eru, who questioned King Durinn. "Your Grace, what is our first course of action."  
King Durinn looked up at Eru, "Unfortunately, Eru, our party will have to be cut short. I'm afraid that you and Ser Daeron here will gather up your garrison and willing townsfolk to fight for my cause. Meanwhile, Oberyn and I will travel back to our respective castles and gather our own army. I expect Califax and Narule to take their time gathering men and we'll meet them in battle, hitting them at different sides, and flank them. Three against two are good enough odds."  
Daeron could see everything forming in his mind already. It seemed easy enough. But easier said than done.  
"Well then," proclaimed Oberyn. "I'll be off, just as My Grace shall be, I assume?"  
King Durinn nodded than spoke to a servant of House Durinn and marched off, Oberyn to much the same.

Daeron followed Eru out the hall and into the Lord of Aerenor's study. There were piles of papers on Eru's desk.  
_Probably taxes and a request to 'count coppers',_ Daeron thought with a smirk. Eru slid gracefully into a leather chair and gestured for Daeron to sit. Then the lord snapped his fingers and a servant stepped out to light a candle and quickly left the room.  
'Well then, Daeron. What do you make of this?" Eru asked Daeron curiously. Daeron spoke, knowing that with anyone else what he said could amount to minor treason and short sentence of imprisonment. However, Daeron was close to Eru, working with him for many years with any regret for his choice and had gained freedom from working with Eru.  
And so he spoke. "My lord, Eru, I believe the Queen may have influenced King Durinn on this matter of war."  
Eru raised his eyebrows and then relaxed in his comfy chair, lounging with the look of a lord on his face. "Yes, that would be something the Queen would do, however, there is something else..." His voice trailed off.  
Daeron was confused for a second and then instantly understand. It was as if a great shadow had come over him. "My lord, is... is the Queen... is she related to the Califax's? Eru nodded, slowly, gravely as Daeron spoke.  
"Yes Daeron, she's a cousin to the wife of Gordon Califax. But why would she put the Califax's and Narule's against us?! She would now there's no hope. There would have to be some additional factor that would help."  
Daeron turned to stare Eru in the eyes and in that moment they thought the exact same thing. Eru's face paled considerably and his hands shook as they lay on the arms of the chair.  
"No, Daeron. She would nev-..."  
Daeron cut him off with an intense look that held the power of silence. A crueler lord might've had Daeron whipped for his impudence, but never Eru.  
Instead he stood up, swaying with shock, "Commandant Ser Daeron Culvin, I command you to send a messenger to King Durinn, and only King Durinn. Make that clear to the messenger. Then I order you to send all your ser's and captains to look for available Aerellian folk, skilled and prepared to fight for our House. We might have more trouble than the House of Narule and Califax..."

Daeron walked between the lines of countless numbers of men. He stood in front of them all, in the wide open grounds outside the Aerenor Castle, much warmer than when the snow was falling. They were at least 2000 strong, and yet this was only the first day. Daeron stared at them all and many looked upon with awe, for Daeron was as famed as Quilton the Indomitable for his skill with the sword rivaled the Indomitable and he had gained the name of Daeron the Champion, after being the one to win a large tourney with some of the best knights competing. _Lucky that Quilton wasn't there,_ Daeron added as a thought. Daeron squinted his eyes, peering at all the men, some fat, some old, some childlike, some children. But they would do.  
With a charismatic grin, Daeron unsheathed his sword and shouted into the groups of men, "Unite as one, fight as one, LIVE AS ONE!"  
The last phrase was bellowed by all the soldiers and Daeron felt strength on the grounds.  
"Together we will defend who we are and our friends. Together we will push back all force of evil! And tonight, you will train amongst friends to fight for all that! PAIR UP WITH ANOTHER! BEGIN YOUR DUELS!"  
_My throat will be sore after this,_ thought Daeron grimly.  
He watched as Fin, the eldest son of Eru take on two men older than Daeron himself and handle himself finely with an ironrod spear. He saw Kendrin Aerenor, the middle son of Eru wield a greataxe and make the four cravens in front of him run in fright. He even noticed little Laeregon, the youngest son of Eru shoot a child's bow after some help with Ser Endray Rerquaithe the Legendary. Eventually he wandered over to Ser Herwidar Kaeldrin the Swift who'd knocked three men unconscious already. Daeron looked around to see all men giving Herwidar a wide berth.  
"Shall we have a go then, Ser?" Asked Daeron politely, bowing to Herwidar.  
Herwidar raised a brow and unsheathe a long sword, just over three feet and a half. It was sharp and had a blue sheen to it, a finely made sword, built for lightning fast stabbing and slashing. Laughing, Dareon took out one of his own swords, an unusual one.  
Dareon laughed at Herwidar's confusion and said, "it's called a falchion. Almost like a scimitar but with a wider blade, and much bigger. It's really quite good for dealing with swords like yours and has a gift for slicing off heads easily."  
And so the duel began. Their swords flashed back and forth, so fast, so elaborately, that soldiers made a circle around them to watch and place bets. Daeron went for a feint and the knee and twisted round and swung up and the last second. Herwidar parried, but his sword skidded off the curved edge of the falchion, making him dance to the side. Herwidar spun his sword side to side in a whirling motion, the blade spinning in an intricate figure eight.  
Daeron was pressed back and went for a vicious overhead, a thrust, and then a cut to the side. He spun his sword left and right and then jumped back as Herwidar went into a fast series of side strikes. They locked blades and then locked eyes, faces an inch apart. Daeron kicked Herwidar in the chest and then did a sweep kick, knocking his feet out under him. Herwidar jumped up and they flashed blades once more. Finally, Daeron saw his chance and jumped high into the air, spinning 360 degrees and bringing his sword with him. It clashed into Herwidar's and then he used the curved edge to loop it into the inside part of the other man's sword. It happened so fast that even Herwidar the Swift couldn't forsee what came next. Daeron pushed down with all his might, disarming Herwidar and laid the sword at the knight's throat.  
"There we have it!" Daeron called out. "That's how you must fight when the time calls for it."  
The watching men gazed in wonder, eyes wide, hands surreptitiously exchanging money. Daeron stood in satisfaction until the men went back to work and he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Greckian Dres, the chief adviser to Lord Eru. Daeron turned around, sweaty-faced.  
"Pardon, Greckian?"  
"Mmm... yes Daeron. We must talk." Responded Greckian ominously, gesturing to the front gate of the castle, and went to sit at the foot of the drawbridge. Daeron followed and Greckian began to speak.  
"Ser, I am worried about Lord Aerenor. He seems distracted, he is speaking his mind to much, per-say. Just today he spoke in the hall of how stupid the king was to challenge the houses of Califax and Narule."  
"You must be mistaken!" Exclaimed Daeron. "Eru would never speak treason like that. He made it clear he is against the rebels."  
Greckian smirked, assuming a sly look. "How do you know he wouldn't want you on his side when the time comes for betrayal."  
Daeron frowned. "Dres, I do not know what you are planning, but I know Eru would never act in such a way. Do not try and fill my mind with doubts. You yourself sound like you are talking treason. Never speak of this."  
"Daeron? Daeron, may I speak with you? A girl stood behind him, tall and beautiful, Nilmaena Aerenor, ten and eight. She had long, luscious dark brown hair and a very comely face with big green eyes that seemed to penetrate you.  
"Yes, my lady? What is it that you require of me?" Daeron asked, bowing.  
"Well, I was wondering what my father would have of me when he is gone to war against the rebels? I don't want to be left here with nothing to do." She inquired politely.  
"My lady, I cannot tell you. But if you wish do have duty, I can ask Lord Aerenor to keep you as an assistant to Lady Haldris, your mother, and command the castle in her leave." Daeron answered.  
She grinned widely, "walk with me, ser."  
Nilmaena led him inside the castle and through the upper floors to her bed. She walked inside and sat upon the soft mattress. "Do that for me, Ser Daeron, and I will show you the way a lady can thank a man."  
Hours later, the deal was already done.

Daeron stood back outside, an hour later. He had taken his reward and she would have hers, but, first, he had an army to command.  
"Attention!" He bellowed, noticing in that moment, the absence of Greckian. The recruited clapped their feet together and unsheathed their swords, pointing them forward, in attack.  
"Spearmen forward!" He boomed in a carrying voice. "Defend against the first group of Narulian cavalry!  
Men with long, ash-wood spears stepped between the spaces in ranks, and knelt, spears bristling.  
"Infantry are attacking!" He shouted finally. "Cavalry charge! Heavy infantry, follow behind, shields up!"  
Knights in iron armor with spectacular inlays of silver and gold started on immense battle horses. Meanwhile, heavily armored infantry carried up the next rank, with large wooden shields with edges of iron. Last came the poorest soldiers, with chain shirts and longswords and shortswords of cheap metal. Even one man had soft leather and a dagger of copper. _We could do better..._ thought Daeron, _but for the first day of recruiting, this is quite incredible, most definitely._  
"Very good for our first day, men of Aerell!" He screamed to the now organized group of fighters. "But this is only the BEGINNING!"

War had truly begun...

_Eru Aerenor_

A seething mass of men filled the courtyards. They gave off a rank smell, curdling and sour. Every man had a grave face, grim enough to turn a smiling child to stone. Some wandered among temporary outdoor armories, haggling with fat blacksmiths over the price of a steel lance while many peasant soldiers paid for what they could. No children were to be seen for this was a man's place, sweaty and grimy, with fights breaking out, punches thrown, and naked steel. Even lords could be seen among them. Eru Aerenor sat with a group of men at a wooden outdoor table, all wearing thick, seemingly heavy, stainless steel plates of armor. Eru had bought a fine new set of greaves for his limbs, and a sword fit for a lord of a house as big as his. It was bejeweled, it's hilt encrusted with gold and silver, and pommel inlaid with a silver falcon. There were black steel tracings upon the blade, with expertly honed edges and a flashing grey sheen that blinded the eye. Many lords turned their heads at the sight of Lord Aerenor, looking almost kingly in his magnificent items.

Eru fidgeted in his seat, stuffy in his great armor. The lords had been talking for hours. Battle tactics, strategies, Califax's next move, how involved Narule was with rebellion.  
"It's black time's," spoke Ser Welgon Gradius the Cautious.  
His father, Jackadien Gradius patted him on the back heartily and spoke in turn. "It's the Black War, that's what it is son. Don't you worry, everything will be alright for us, Lord Aerenor always makes sure."  
House Gradius, though lords and knights themselves, were bannermen to the great house of Aerenor. They were the first to bend the new to a chief lord, nine and a half centuries ago, when the son of Eru Aerenor, the first of his name, conquered House Gradius, taking a son as a ward, at keeping the peace for almost an entire millennium.  
Lord Fredryck Sundart merely smiled and shook his head. "Bad blood's in the air, Jack. Bad blood, aye. The Califax's are mustering quite the army, more bannermen than we though, yes indeed."  
Eru's eyebrows arched. He quite disliked men to have a negative attitude against the war. If one man didn't like the outcome, soon the rest wouldn't either. It almost went with the Aerenorian motto.  
"Lord Sundart," he said in a commanding tone, "With the houses and bannermen of Reedwood and Durinn we outnumber Califax three to one. Surely, our wits will overcome the Gordon Califax, with his bloodlust and barbarism?"  
Finally, the last major bannerlord said his words, Lord Daario White. "He's a bloody bastard, Gordon is, as cruel as that lord that came some centuries ago, far off in the West. He was part of some land of Westo, no, Westro, wait, Westeros, that's it! Roose Bulton or Bolton was his name, I think...it's pretty vague anyway, they never had a that big of a war..."  
It was usual for Daario to be wary with the word bastard, anyway. The Whites were born from bastards and awarded lordship in the fourth cenutury of Aerenor's lineage of lords. It took them three decades to bend the knee to the Aerenorian lord of the time, Lord Halgron Aerenor. It was amazing that all three major bannerlords had joined the under House Aerenor without putting up a battle.  
On top of these men, many other small houselords had joined, those of House Dronin, House Underly, House Gareth, House Valinor, and House Ferwe. All had brought townsfolk of their own and those of their castle's garrison. Over a hundred hedge knights had shown up outside the Aerenorian castle with their swords, armor, and squires.  
Eru watched as his own squire, Dresart Stone stalked over to him with his shield. It bore a Blue Falcon of Aerenor and had a background of the pure silver, just another expensive war item.  
Dresart silently slipped the shield onto Eru's arm and then picked up his sword and sheathed it into it's scabbard. Finally he slipped the scabbard into his belt and took at a huge morningstar. It was made from blue steel and had an oaken handle, bound at the grip with soft, supple, black leather. It's spherical end was light but strong as a solid boulder and the spikes welded into the sphere were as sharp as any lord's sword. Eru felt it's weight in his hand and hefted it, experimentally. It sung like an arrow, whipping through the air, an inch away from caving Dresart's face effortlessly. Eru, ever the image of respect and confidence, apologized to Dresart and walked of to a particularly raucous group of men in the middle of a loud and dirty swordfight.  
_Jumped-up old women_, Eru thought, nearing the men. _I'll show you how a real man fights._ Checking his full-body armor plates were adjusted to maximize speed and protection, he surged into the melee brawl, swinging his morningstar with ease, dodging the first attackers sword and slamming his own weapon into the fighters head, enough to knock him down, but not enough to break his armor. Dancing away from two sword experts he slammed his shoulder into a small knight before realizing who he had hit.  
Ser Vendro Asdil the Young, one of Fin's best friends and one of Eru's personal knights or Aerenorian Blades. The Aerenor Ser jumped back up with the youth only a teenager could manage and went into action. He slammed Eru with smashes of steel. Bringing his light weapons, a longsword, might not've been the best idea against the heavy shield Eru carried, but Vendro attacked strangely, almost newer, and younger. He went for a downcut catching Eru in the leg and reversed his grip to slam the pommel into his elbow, jarring Eru's mace hand. Finally he switched grip, forcing Eru to parry rather than block with a shield. Eru grinned, trained for this.  
"Think that'll work, Vendro?"  
He twisted, make himself a smaller target and bringing in front of him, protecting himself but unable to attack. What he did next made Vendro pause. Eru dropped his morningstar, briefly, and withdrew a copper rod. Turning himself forward again, he tossed it at Vendro's arm, making him drop his sword. Quickly, he scooped back up his morningstar and threw himself back into the duel with a new ferocity. Meanwhile, Ser Asdil drew his handaxe. Eru swung his morningstar with all his might and it locked with Vendro's handaxe. Eru backed up and then spun around, putting maximum force into his side smash. When it smacked into Vendro's handaxe, it whacked it to the side, snapping back the young knight's arm. Eru could feel heavy sweat on his face, tired from wielding the weapon. And at that moment, Vendro struck. He first brought his axe onto Eru's shield, forcing him to kneel. Next he tripped Eru over with the flat of his blade. Finally, he brought the axe to Eru's throat.  
"Yield," croaked Eru. "I yield."  
Vendro nodded satisfied and replied, "may I remove your helm, Ser? That was an honorable fight."  
He obviously hadn't realized it was his own lord he'd disarmed. Slowly, Vendro removed Eru's helm and gasped in sudden fear. He helped Eru to his feet and knelt, himself. Eru regarded him kindly, knowing how Vendro would react.  
"Ser- I mean my-my lord. I am so deeply sorry. I meant no harm." He stared into Eru's eyes, hoping for a reprieve. Eru stared back, joking on the inside, but 'angry' on the outside.  
"VENDRO!" He boomed, "You've certainly gotten fat and slow!"  
The young knight reddened as onlookers began to stare. "My lord, I- I'm so sorry-...  
Eru stared him deep in the eye for another five seconds, while Vendro trembled with fear. Then he burst out laughing along with the rest of the watchers.  
"HA HA HA." Eru could literally feel his sides bursting with laughter, and pounded the ground with his fist when he saw Vendro's confusion. "HEHEHEHE... AHA HA HA ha... ahhhh. That was funny, young ser. Very impressive if I must say so myself."  
Vendro grinned broadly, knowing there was nothing better than to be praised by a high-up lord in front of hundreds of men and women. Still, he was plenty embarassed.  
"M'lord, you scared me. Scared me quite bad."  
Eru grinned. "Nothing like a joke in these black times, Vendro, I feel we'll be short of humor very soon."

_Haldris Aerenor_

Haldris sat with Laeragon in her lap, crooning him to sleep.

"Hush, my lordling, hush. Tommorrow is a big day for your father..."  
Laeragon sat up straight at her words and looked at Haldris with innocent, brown eyes.  
"Mother? Mother? Why don't I get to fight with father? Please mother! I want to fight. I'll kill Gordon Califax. Please mother, please?"  
Haldris shook her head. _Always my little fighter..._ she thought fondly of him. His small fists were swinging as if he held a greataxe and was smashing through a line of heavily armored warriors.  
"It's so unfair mother!" Laeragon stopped his fantasy to turn and whine at his mother. "Father going to fight for King Durinn, Fin gets to fight too, and even Nilmaena's going, and she's a girl!"  
"He's got a point, mother." Kendrin poked his head into Haldris' room. "I can fight just as well as Fin, and we'll certainly be more use than Nilmaena. What's she doing anyway?"  
Haldris rolled her eyes. "Oh you know, she didn't want to be left behind. She's old enough to know what she really wants know. Plus, she has her ways of persuasion."  
Kendrin marched into the Lady of Aerenor's room and jumped onto her and Eru's bed. He rolled all over in misery, leaving wet tear stains on the sheets. Finally, he gave one last sob, threw a baleful look at his mother and walked out. Haldris shook her head in disbelief. _He's far to old to make me feel guilty with that._ Laeragon, meanwhile, had already followed suit, being the ever dependent, younger brother, and with that, both boys were gone. Haldris heaved a sigh, and flopped onto her slightly wet bed, tired after that enduring hour of whining.

Greckian Dres walked into Haldris' room, holding a tray with two golden goblets upon it.  
"My lady," he whispered, kneeling with the tray in hand.  
"Greckian," Haldris replied with a bow of her head. "How thoughtful of you."  
Greckian smirked and took one goblet from the tray and handed it to her, while taking the other and drinking it in one gulp. Haldris sipped her's daintily, listening to what Greckian was about to say.  
Greckian smiled and opened his mouth, giving a little cough before speaking. "My lady, I must urge you to take action on a specific problem... or person, to be exact." Haldris frowned and then waved for him to continue. "My lady, it is Daeron, the Commandant Ser, which I have doubts upon. He is behaving strangely. I am confused by him. He spoke to me of how Eru was a traitor. I told him his ideas were foolish and treasonous but..." Greckian's voice trailed off.  
Haldris sipped the drink once more before speaking. "It seems to me, Greckian, that your accusations are quite unfounded. Daeron has been with my lord husband since the Ser was a squire. If we meant to betray House Aerenor, he would've done it already."  
Greckian coughed yet another time. "Would you call bedding your beloved daughter a betrayal, my lady?"  
Haldris sat, in stunned silence. "No..." She whispered. "He wouldn't dare-..."  
"Would he my lady? He is quite the comely man, is he not? He also has Eru's defense when the time comes." Greckian wore a serious expression on his face, staring back at Haldris as she stared him in the face. Then he assumed his businesslike tone again and continued.  
"It is quite clear to me, my lady, that Daeron is attempting to assassinate one of the Aerenorian lineage. I suggest keeping your family hidden away while I command this castle... at your leave, of course."  
Haldris smacked him. "How DARE YOU!" I knew Daeron would never do such a thing. You treasonous man. You deserved to on the block. You do not think I would see through a scheme as stupid as this?!"  
The chief adviser drew back his face smarting, and blocked the door. "GUARDS!" He called at the top of his lungs. "TAKE LADY HALDRIS DOWN TO THE DUNGEONS!"  
Picking up the metal tray Greckian had brought in, she whacked him across the face with it, following up with a knee in the manhood. Greckian dropped to the floor, moaning. She marched to her drawer, opened the bottom level, threw out some clothes, and reached for a razor-sharp dagger. As she got up from her retrieval of the knife, she felt cold steel pressing at her throat. Greckian laughed out loud, then groaned from his pains, as a guard held her in check.  
Sauntering into her vision, he held the goblet she had drunk from in her face, waving it back and forth for her inspection. "At least I planned for some trouble." He said. "The poison should kill you in about a month and a half, give or take a few days."  
She watched him walk out, with her neck at sword-point, and listened to his footsteps soften and he distanced her. "I've already spoken to your sons..." He added before giving a cruel laugh and going out of earshot.

Haldris held Laeragon close to her, like she did when he whined in her room. A rat crawled by sniffing at Haldris before Kendrin grabbed it by the tail and smashed it's brains upon the wall. Haldris shivered in her threadbare dress, covering Laeragon and keeping him warm in the cell. Thick iron bars, coated with dirt, blood, and grime, blocked some of her vision, but there was nothing to see. All that surrounded her was solid stone, and she knew instinctively, that she was far beneath the castle's dining hall, lower than even the peasants that dug ditches in the ground to sleep in. Her belly begged for sustenance as they were only given a slice of bread and cup of water twice a day, which she usually let her sons eat. How had this all happened? Would her beloved save her? "Eru..." she managed to croak his name softly, before closing her eyes and slipping into unconsciousness.  
Moments later, the Lord of Aerenor woke up from a fitful sleep...

_Daeron Culvin_

Whinnying, the horse tossed it's pure black mane, before breaking into an impressive gallop, joining the massive number of other hoof-beats around it.

Daeron lazed in his saddle, no-handed, with a bastard sword in his scabbard and a buckler in his shield hand. The sword was a dull-grey, with a plain leather grip, but looks hid a dangerous inside. The sword in question was sharp like the fang of a dragon and as strong as a tree. Daeron liked the feel of it as much as he liked the shape of Nilmaena's breasts. He could feel her inside her, even days later. Hitching up his scabbard, he trotted his warhorse to the front of the cavalry group to greet Lord Eru. The lord saluted him, giving him barely a glance as he discussed with his bannerlords and their knights. Daeron noted his face was lined and sagged, from little sleep and overexertion. Tossing on his helmet with the ease only a knight of his prowess could manage, he reined into a line of other nameless sers, at least three centuries. Noticing Ser Endray Rerquaithe the Great, another Aerenorian Blade, he gestured to him to ride beside. Endray arced in gracefully, with a greataxe upon his back. Unlike Daeron's sword, Endray's greataxe was a powerful thing. In fact, it was famed throughout Aerenor for taking the lives of many. In battles, Endray was said to sweep aside enemies in the dozen with the infamous weapon. Daeron knew he would have trouble against a greataxe. _Yet I'm a better lance._ The little voice of competition was always there, in the back of his mind. Daeron ignored it and continued onward, nearing a potential campsite.

"The spirits are low, Daeron." Eru frowned, speaking his mind. "We need to liven things before this battle begins or else we could lose a few men. Maybe even half a thousand, I fear. From the way rumors are spreading... Well, I can't wait till this rebelliousness is over. It shouldn't be to complex in my opinion. A full-on battle, three against two. I'll welcome my wife with open arms when this is over. No messenger could reach us before war breaks out so I have no message of her welfare, alas."  
Daeron nodded sympathetically, forgetting it in a second when an idea popped into his head. "M'lord, I do have an idea... a propostion to make for inspiration to prepare for a tussle. Why not an informal tourney."  
Eru grinned at the idea. "Sounds wonderful, Daeron. I need a bit a fun, even if it means me sitting on the grass, eating stale bread and watching to youths fight."  
Daeron laughed aloud at the idea. "Better to old men and a flagon of wine than that, my lord."  
Eru joined in at this. "Let's get started before the elder's started whacking one another over the head!" He barely wheezed his last words out, banging his fist on the table.  
Daeron's cheeks began to hurt from all the smiling.

Readying his lance, Daeron took a deep breath. The tourney was made in a five hours, fence posts placed and banners shoved into the earth and Daeron and one other had made it to the final. A crowd of ten thousand had gathered, raucous, drunk men, gambling on each outcome of the tournament. One fat lard had come up, slapping him on the back before bellowing, "You'll need some luck on your side, 'Champion', to beat Ser Jkeriah Olf the Towering. I've got my money on him, small man." Daeron backhanded that b*tch in the face with a steel gauntlet. Bugles tooted and boys banged rocks, shouting words of encouragement, while Daeron wheeled his horse to face the Towering Knight. He was dressed in crimson-red armor, in what was a splint mail type of armor. Daeron remember splint mail to be strips of metal welded upon one another to create an ungainly and heavy, but highly protective armor plate. Olf seemed at ease in the stuffy armor, on top of a large brown piebald, with circles of white around it's left eye. The huge knight snatched his lance from his overweight squire and lifted it into position. Daeron began to feel uneasy facing such a large challenger, but steadied himself with deep breaths, raising his adrenaline. His heart began to race and his mind quickened, beginning to react to things with more efficiency and speed. This was how he won battles.  
"READY YOURSELF GIANT, FOR THE CHAMPION APPROACHES!" Daeron called to Ser Jkeriah. The mountain knight grunted back, sitting himself more firmly than ever. The bugles tooted once more and Daeron squeezed his horse with his thighs, leaping it into action, going into a sprint. Olf meanwhile, roared out loud, startling his horse to leap forward and both knights raised lances and tower shields, prepared to fight. In that moment, time slowed down for Daeron and he felt, rather than saw, his horse near the center of the lancing arena. His horse was going far faster than Olf's. Swaying away from the big opponent, Daeron leaned only his lance in, prepared to lessen the impact upon himself in case either ser failed to knock the other off his saddle. Getting closer and closer to Olf, Daeron saw in that infinitesimally slow amount of time, a chink were the knight's armor was. A weak spot. A place to aim for. A place to strike for. Daeron could just make out knight's eyes, shadowed by his helm. Finally, Daeron's lance struck, hitting the inside shoulder pad of the giant's armor, where the weak spot on his chest lay. Meanwhile, Olf's lance took Daeron full in the stomach, making him gasp for breath, smacking him so hard, he saw black spots before his eyes. Yet, Olf's lance skidded off Daeron, for the speed that Daeron went at upon his horse was far to fast for the Towering Knight. Olf, unlike, Daeron, twisted back from the force and perfected accuracy of a true knight's lance and rode on for a millisecond before slipping off his saddle and falling onto his rump.  
Olf screamed in rage, knowing he'd been eliminated from the tourney, and ripped his vast flail from his back, almost like Lord Eru's morningstar except much more powerful yet far more uncontrollable due to the fact that the spiked sphere connected to the handle by a thick, iron chain. He swung it at a fence post, splitting it in half, before leaping onto Daeron's side. Daeron sighed with a sneer, before sliding off his saddle to face to enraged giant. Sidestepping Olf's clumsy blow, Daeron rung his pommel on Olf's helmet, denting it and giving Olf a good headache. Next he stepped into Olf's blow, ducking before he lost his head. Unless Olf backed up, his flail was useless at such close quarters. Daeron reversed his grip on his handle and clanged his sword against Olf's weak armor spot, shearing one whole arm greave clean off, and leaving a thin but deep scratch. The Towering Knight howled in pain and threw himself upon Daeron, who was unprepared for the whole affair. Daeron rolled out from under Ser Jkeriah and planted his foot firmly upon the fallen man's head, announcing to the crowd, "BEHOLD THE WINNER OF THIS TOURNEY!"  
The crowd responded with an instant uproar, of boo's from losing gamblers and far more cheers from winners. Girls wooed him and he had a squire bring him a bouquet of white roses to hand out to each one. With a charismatic air, he passed screaming men, tossing a few a copper or silver, one a golden Aedraen. Finally, he passed Nilmaena, looking comely in a low v-neck, tight around her. He passed her a red rose when Eru looked away, focusing his attention elsewhere, and she replied with a coy smile.

Later that day she entered his tent, kissing his cheek softly in congratulations. She dropped the red rose beside onto his table, and murmured sweet words to his face, before moving on to the rest. Daeron would never forget it.

"Daeron... You did well." Eru smiled benignly upon Daeron, before laying a wreath of gold on his wavy, black hair. "That was a skilled performance, something I expected no less of you. RISE MY KNIGHT, ALL MY KNIGHTS!" Now he shouted to all the collective men among Daeron and Eru. "RISE TO FIGHT FOR YOUR HOUSE!"

_Kendrin Aerenor_

Kendrin shivered within his cell, sitting with his mother, thirty and six. She smiled at him, with the kindness only a mother could manage and pulled Kendrin's little brother, Laeragon, closer to her, cuddling him and giving him body warmth.  
"Hush my children, it'll be alright. Your father will return soon, all will be well..." Their mother, Haldris, always spoke reassuring words.  
Wailing, Laeragon covered his face with his hands, sobbing with a ferocity. "Mother... MOTHER! I WANT TO GO HOME!..."  
A guard came walking by the their dank cell, pudgy and piggish. He had bulging, muddy eyes, round like a swine's. His mouth was in a permanent pursue, with the lips flopping like two fat maggots. Even his nose was unpleasant, broken, maybe by a recent prisoner. He had heavy jowls and some stubble, but was bald on top, just like the old men that visited brothels. Quivering with rage along with his impressive belly, he bellowed in Laeragon's face, spraying spittle all over it. "SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BASRARD! IT'S HARD ENOUGH DOING MY JOB WITHOUT A BOY LIKE YOU WHINING!"  
Laeragon burst into tears, crying harder than ever, while Haldris shushed him, stroking his hair. Kendrin watched in slowly building rage, turning into white-hot fury. Marching up to the guard, he grabbed the fat man's belt through the bars and pulled him close. Screaming, "DON'T HURT MY BROTHER!" Kendrin began to hold the man's belt in one fist while slamming the other fist into his face. Kendrin gave a grunt of satisfaction every time he felt his knuckle's break skin, drawing blood. The guard screamed in agony, begging to get out of Kendrin's iron grip, but the bulky ten and one year old was too strong for such a piggish lad.  
"DAMN YOU! HOW DARE YOU! I'LL KILL YOU, YOUR THE LITTLE BASTARD!" Kendrin continued to pound resolutely until two more guards came and pulled the obese man away from Kendrin.  
"He deserves to be punished, 'e does," Said the particularly stupid one. "Beat the living 'ell out of 'im, I'd say."  
The third guard spoke up, a weasel-like man with a thin mustache. "No... I say we punish the mother. He'll continue unless we punish her... Yes... I know what to do... HOLD THE BOY DOWN, I WILL ENTER THE CELL!"  
The other guards understood instantly and unlocked the cell door, quickly rushing to subdue Kendrin before he could react. Meanwhile the weasel guard walked over to Haldris, tearing her away from Laeragon. He dragged her outside the prison, while she kicked and screamed, trying to claw his eyes out. Laeragon screamed for his mother and Kendrin moaned in despair as the two other guards threw him to the ground and ran outside the cell, locking the door.  
They beat them all, over and over, to sleep.

Kendrin was shaken awake by Laeragon in the middle of the night. His eyes were wide, shining with fear. "Kendrin... Kendrin..." He whispered, in concern that the guards would hear. "Mother isn't waking..."Kendrin sat bolt upright, jumping into action. Peering over his still mother, he brought two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. He could feel the blood flowing, just barely. "She's alive, Laeragon, but only just. Barely." Kendrin looked at the floor before breaking down and hugging his brother, who began to weep too."He'll come for us, Kendrin, right? Fin or father? Won't they both?" Laeragon managed through the tears. "Maybe even Nilmaena, even though she can't even bargain with people like father can."Kendrin smiled, hearing that. "I don't know Laeragon, she has her ways, she has her ways." Laeragon silently agreed, nodding in the gloom. "She convinced Daeron to help her get into the war. I wanted to come too." He looked around while Laeragon spoke, surveying the walls around him. They were thick and covered in moss, so it was very possible that there was a missing brick that was unseen. _There has to be a way out,_ Kendrin though desperately, _there has to be one other exit._ The stones were all wet and hard, made from pale, plain limestone. The bars to the prison were rusted, but still strong. It could take another decade before they were weak enough to break apart. Kendrin sighed with hopelessness, staring at the torch outside his cell. Just one small flicker of light in dark times...

_Daeron Culvin_

It was dark. Daeron could hardly see his hands in front of his eyes. Groaning, he sat up from his bed, rising out of the comfortable furs and slipping into leather sandals. He grabbed a sword, looked around his patterned tent and wandered outside. The air was crisp and cold upon his face, clutching at his face, biting his lips and ears, yet there was no wind. His sword hilt grew cold as he held it between his fingers. The grass was wet with dew, dripping onto his toes, soaking his shoes and the sky was a deep, stained purple, with a bright, white streak across it, laden with stars. Daeron made his way over the berth of the hill were the Aerenorian's had set camp on, spotting scattered weapons here and there. A mace, a halberd, a handaxe, even a bloodied, broken sword. He had felt as if someone was watching him, but he felt that his warrior instincts were interfering with his thoughts. Shaking his head, he walked back towards his tent in the dark, before stopping to take a piss. As he pulled down his pants, he saw a tent flap open; blown by the wind perhaps? Settling himself into a easy slouch, he relieved himself and grabbed his pants to his waist. Whistling he sauntered over the ground, reaching a few feet within his tent. Then something clicked in the back of Daeron's mind. There was no wind. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a terrible scream rented the air. Daeron's hair stood on end as he rushed towards the source of the sound. Throwing himself into the tent, a terrifying sight greeted his eyes. Lying there, drowning in a pool of blood, lay Lord Jackadien Gradius, father of one of the Aerenorian Blades, Ser Welgon Gradius the Cautious, who was one of Daeron's best friends.  
"Sh*t," Daeron muttered under his breath. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! AN ASSASSIN IN THE CAMP! WAKE UP!"  
Men were shouting and shoving, some filing into Lord Gradius' tent, others aimlessly wandering. Daeron shook the bannerlord on the shoulders, and in his peripheral vision, he saw a rip in the back of Gradius' tent. Leaping into action, he bound out through the hole, dashing between tents, dodging crazed men.  
_So this is how the Aerellian's react with their first taste of war. How pathetic. If you want something done well, you must do it yourself._ Continuing on his run, he felt the amount of tent's thinning. He was closing in on his quarry. Finally, he made it into an open field, void of tents, and saw, barely meters ahead of him, a short man, dressed in mottled and camouflaged leather armor, holding two saw-back knives, sharpened to a point, one covered in blood. Braking into a full-out sprint, Daeron tackled the assassin from the behind, knocking him to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Daeron spun out his sword, flashing it in the attacker's face. He brought it down on the man in a wicked slash and the nimble assassin rolled out of the way, springing to his feet with the knives in hand. They began to dance, the man with the knives stabbing back and forth, trying to step inside Daeron's strikes while Daeron kept him at bay with wide slashing sweeps. The assassin had tricks up his sleeves, throwing a knife with a flick of the wrist, which Daeron ducked. Next the assassin aimed to feint with one knife while attack with the other, which Daeron knocked aside with contemptuous ease. Preparing for a few final strikes, Daeron swung his sword round his head, intimidating his opponent. Then he realized they weren't alone.

Two more leather-clad assassins had made it into the clearing, changing the odds. _Three against one, eh, I'l manage just fine. _Daeron swiped in a full roundhouse swing, giving him space, before converging on the two behind him. Blocking one knife thrust, he kicked the second assassin in the chest and engaged with the third one. Feeling, rather than seeing the original killer behind him, he switched his grip on his sword, parrying the third man's knife with his sword pommel while fighting the original attacker without even turning to face him. Then a searing pain reared in his head, along his temple, and he fell onto the cold ground, dazed. Exhausted, he registered the man who he had kicked in the chest earlier. Daeron didn't expect him to recover so fast.  
"Should we kill 'im?" A rough voice rang in Daeron's ears, gruff and full of rage.  
"Nah, they'll be with 'orses in a secund, you ask me." Another voice, this one falsetto, pierced his ears. "Get out of 'ere, we did enough." With that, they ran off, leaving Daeron to lie there, his head throbbing, prepared to be stabbed by one of the assassins. At least he was alive.

"That's alright Ser, you'll be fixed up by the time Califax rolls in." Daeron could hear a voice in his ear faintly. It must've been a maester, because he could feel a faint milky taste from medicine that had been forced into his mouth.  
"Is the camp... is my Lord Aerenor safe?" Daeron's words were just as faint as the maester's, hardly heard in his own ears.  
"Aye, everyone's fine- except Lord Gradius, unfortunately. He died hours ago, while some men were bringing you back. Lord Aerenor named Ser Welgon the new lord of House Gradius, and luckily, they're keeping their alliance. If Gordon Califax thought that this would break the Aerellian's, he was wrong. The attack simply made us stronger." The maester's tone had risen in anger, breaking as he reached is last few words.  
Daeron sighed, reaching up to feel bandage's around his head.  
"It's only a small head wound, Ser. Don't worry, it might seem bad because of the blood, but little scrapes on the head bleed a lot, believe me. You're fine. Handled yourself well against the murderer's it seems." The maester's voice trailed off, trying to reassure Daeron.  
"Well..." Daeron smiled sardonically. "I didn't think the one I'd knocked down would get up so fast."  
Daeron recounted his entire story to the maester, who listened in awe.  
"Those are some skills, you have there, Ser!" The maester spoke when Daeron had finished. "But yes, even something as simple as that can be made sneaky by House Califax, if you ask me. Alway's one more trick up their sleeves. Alway's one more plot..."

_Fingolfin Aerenor_

Dripping it's golden rays open Fin's light brown curls of hair and blue steel of armor, the sun mocked him, for the blood that would come on the morrow. Within a seething sea of iron-clad brutes, Fin was friendless among the camp for now, bridling his horse, relaxing on the soft grass with no other to practice swordsmanship. He had laid pools of sweat at the bottom of his armor, yet that was the price he had to pay for begging father to let him fight for the King. _They're rebels, and rebels must be dealt with. And at least I can stand against them, instead of quail in a tent like Nilmaena. Why is she here anyway?_ Fin pushed his questions away, they could wait for a later moment. Looking up, he saw a greater problem headed his way. Dreyck Sundart, the nephew of Lord Sundart, a bannerlord of his father's marched towards him with a scoffing expression. Kendrin and Fin called him Sundart's b*tch.  
"Get up, lazy lordling, the whelp does need his training." Deryck was ten and six, of Fin's age, but far wider and bulkier. He had oily black hair and a pimply face, pockmarked with adolescent scars. As he spoke, unpleasant black hairs upon his lip wriggled, as if sweaty flies were constantly sucking his blood.  
"Well, get up Finny. Not got all year. Not even got a week. You want your arse handed to you in our battle with Califax on the morrow?"  
Fin stood up, calming himself. "Deryck, I'm not even going to touch one of the Califax's, they'll never get to the sixth line of our men. Our three houses could crush Califax and Narule, if the Narulian's need discipline, however."  
Deryck grinned. "And that's were your wrong, Finny. Were attacking in stages, with the Aerell's first, in front, the Reedwood's second, to the left, and the Durinn's on the right and behind last, as reinforcements."  
"Oh yes? And were did you hear this, perchance?" Fin asked with a dangerous whisper.  
Deryck grinned ear to ear before speaking, "Why behind your father's tent, the sh*thead talked as loud as a desperate whore!"  
Fin's fury broke, slamming Deryck in the face in the form of a swift, orderly punch, sinking into his left cheek and cracking upon his nose. With a howl of righteous wrath, Deryck pulled his sword from his scabbard swinging it wildly in Fin's face.  
_He's as strong as Kendrin, but nowhere near as fast or skilled. This'll be quick,_ thought Fin with confidence. As the fight broke out, men around them on the sunlit hill gathered, roaring encouragement to each boy.  
"Quick there laddy!" One shouted at Fin. "A brute like that ought to be dealt with fast."  
Yet another replied in insults. "That's where your wrong, you sightless buffoon. The large one's got the upper hand!"  
Fin pressed Deryck, both fueled by anger. Their swords flashed going from right to left, each attack a simple side cut. Finally, Fin changed tactic, stepping in for a thrust and forcing Deryck to dodge into a crowd of onlookers and stumble. The men pushed Deryck back in roughly and he sprawled. Crawling for his sword, he parried just before Fin got him to yield. Using his huge arms, he pushed his sword up, against Fin's, and slowly made it to his feet. Next Fin went for an overhead and then a feint, swiping for one side before going for an underhand and catching his blade in the greave of Deryck's leg armor. Deryck seized his chance, bringing his sword down onto Fin's snapping it in half. Fin noticed money change hands.  
"Done yet, you craven?" Deryck roared in Fin's ear.  
Fin leapt into action, bringing his shard of a sword into Deryck, making him block clumsily. He swept at Deryck's feet and cut him on one leg, bringing a trickle of blood. With all his rage, he jammed the broken sword into Deryck's injured leg, where the droplets changed to a small shower of blood.  
Screaming in pain, Deryck fell to the ground, clutching his leg in irony to his previous words of insult.  
"Father. Father! He hurt me! He hurt me! Help!" Deryck shouted, his voice an octave higher. Lord Sundart came bursting through the crowd, the gamblers making way for him.  
"What did you do to my son, you fool?!" Lord Sundart turned to Fin with a face of shock, noticing he was the son of Lord Aerenor. "Fin... what did you do."  
Fin flushed, before speaking his mind. "He insulted my father, my lord. Your lord, in fact."  
"And what did Deryck say?" Asked Sundart in a calmer, more refined tone.  
"That Lord Aerenor was a sh*thead as loud as a desperate whore and I was a craven."  
Lord Fredryck Sundart paled, looking at his son in horror. "Deryck? Is this true? You are an idiot, child. An idiot. You could've cost us our alliance. Do you want to live in stone-cold houses with the rebels, boy?"

Fin met with Eru later, inside a patterned leather tent, with a flickering fire and furs among the ground. It was warm and comfy inside, quite unlike the dark, foreboding sense that Fin felt.  
"So, we sacrifice ourselves first, is that right, father?"  
Eru nodded with a melancholy face. "Without this tactic, we could lose far more men to Califax. They won't expect Durinn or Reedwood this way."  
Fin scratched his stubble, pondering for a second. "And what if we lose. What if GordonCalifax has another sly trick in that crazed head of his? What then?"  
Eru fidgeted in his furs, before making eye contact with Fin. "My son, be careful of your actions. You remember down in those dungeons with the assassin? He is still down there, because I am a careful man, one who does not wish to betray the King or Queen for that matter. It is true that the Aerenorian line could be damaged from this war, but we have your mother and siblings, so do not fear. You must remember this Fin, for this is important. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, my son..."

_Kendrin Aerenor_

His mother was crying. "Oh Eru, oh Eru, my husband, where are you? I need you... I need you?"

Kendrin could literally feel his mother's sanity draining, like so many other's that had been cast away to Aerenor's infamous dungeons.  
Every hour or so, one of the disgusting guards would pass by the cell, eyeing Haldris hungrily each time. Kendrin felt sickened when the fat guard who had attacked his mother threw himself on the cell bars, scrabbling for a part of her body, rubbing himself against the metal with a greedy gleam in his eye. Kendrin could picture that guard in his mind, grinning over and over again, throwing himself at his his mother...  
He wanted to throw up, to die. As the minutes passed over, he felt what his mother felt, sanity flowing from him to her and back, ever changing in a state of flux. Only Laeragon seemed slightly sane, but only just. He was huddling in a dirty corner, talking to the rats in a hurried tone. His eyes darted back and forth and different rats, trying to pick out each one, all of which blended in with the surroundings, a dirty grey and black, covered in dust and grime, a disgusting mixture. Kendrin grabbed his head with his hands and squeezed it, trying to shake all the memories he had experienced in just the last few days. What did Greckian want?

"Get up, boy!" The fat guard stood smirking above them, his yellow-flaked eyes raking over them, his jowls a quiver, his belly bouncing in time with the words he spoke. Kendrin could see a lump in his pants and let loose a howl of rage within his head. _Now_.  
He darted forward, fleet of foot, strong in arm. Launching himself at the momentarily frozen guard, he knocked him to the floor. Kendrin poked the man's face and realized the connection of his head to the stone ground and knocked him unconscious. Scanning for other guards, he gestured for his mother and brother to escape. His mother led the way, holding Laeragon's hand, while Kendrin walked silently behind them. Kendrin almost laughed aloud, but controlled his impulse, in fear that the other undergaoler's would hear. Reaching a bend in the prison passage, Kendrin stopped suddenly and turned back to the cell, with such silence, that his family did not hear, but continued forwards. Kendrin's brow knit as he crept over to the unconscious man, the one who had raped his mother, laughed at him, bullied his brother, imprisoned them all, darkening their life forever. Kneeling down to the man, he clasped his hands around the undergaoler's neck and began to squeeze. Slowly at first, but then harder, stronger, angrier. As he pushed with all his strength, he felt his fury surge, leaving him. With righteous anger he crushed away his last reserves of anger, carefully loosening his grip. He sighed and slammed his fist into the man's throat with satisfaction, which caused the undergaoler's eyes to pop open for a brief moment. Kendrin did not laugh, for the situation was not a humorous one to him, in fact, it was a very grave one. In no way did Kendrin feel as if he was going mad, but he knew this was the right thing to do. This man, this walking obscenity, did not deserve to live.

Kendrin had caught up to Haldris and Laeragon. There were only two other guards on duty, currently, the weasel-faced one and the one Kendrin had pummeled, whom he had no nickname for.  
"The stables..." His mother whispered quietly. "Let us grab a horse, there should be some food stores in the back of the stable. They keep suitable food back there for us, as well as horses, you know."  
The rest of the journey was a blur, as the Aerenor family stalked through their own castle, listening for any minuscule movement that could indicate the arrival of a castle guardsmen or even Greckian Dres himself, the adviser who'd imprisoned them. In the end, they made it to the stables, made it to safety. Haldris found two comfortable pack saddles and brought the healthiest horses she could find. Kendrin took a bay while his mother and brother shared a handsome chestnut. Laeragon smiled in his mother's arms, holding onto her like the child he was when she shrugged a leather pack onto her shoulder's, stuffed to the brim with rations.  
"Let's go." Kendrin spoke, in a barely audible tone, before tightening his leg's on the horse and galloping off at a brisk pace, his mother hot on his heels.

They rode into the open castle courtyard, covering the stretched distance in a matter of seconds, nearing the open portcullis. Kendrin felt the cold air caress his face and pushed his horse for the home stretch, the final break for freedom...  
"Stop them! The Aerenor's are escaping!" A guard burst out from a tower above and Kendrin turned in his saddle to view the man's shocked face. Was he bribed by Greckian like all the others? Had the treacherous adviser promised the man gold, like countless others? It did not matter. Nothing mattered now. Kendrin was out. He was free, along with his beloved family. The portcullis had shut mere inches behind Haldris' horse but nevertheless, they were free.  
Kendrin spoke to the whipping wind, a sinking feeling in his chest disappearing.  
"We're coming, father."

_Eru Aerenor_

The sky was dark overhead. It rumbled with ominous volume, for it knew what was to come. Eru could feel it's dark eyes upon him, staring down upon him, a lord among his soldiers. _The death of so many... And for what?_ Yet Eru could not turn away from true fate. This was meant to be. There was no other option. Only one path forward, before not yet clear, but now... it had an obvious transparency. _And this is only the beginning._

Perhaps it would be written in history books, centuries after Eru was dead. For now, he could only concentrate on one thing. The duty of a great lord was to lead his men to battle, to show his fearlessness, to bring hope to all the craven's when the battle looked it's bleakest. Eru sat tall on his dark stallion, cloaking his anxiety in a charismatic demeanor. He lifted his morningstar above his head, the beautiful yet twisted and unholy weapon, a swirl of black and blue steel, forged in the fires of the deepest smith's. Every point was honed to perfection, a touch would draw blood. This weapon would not only bludgeon it's victims to death, but litter them with holes, seeping their very life essence away.  
"You have your swords! You have your shields! You have your brothers!" Eru paused for breath. "The Aerellian's do not quail under the face of death, nor do they fall before the knees of the traitorous!"  
Uproarious yells erupted from the mass of men before him. Thousands upon thousands, armed, disciplined, trained. Flags flapped proudly in their standards, dwarfed by the numbers of the Aerellian's.  
"Today we are not Aerell, Borne, and Durinn! TODAY WE ARE JUSTICE!"  
Only then was Eru's voice drowned out by thunderous hoovebeats as knight's surged forward. The deafening marching could be discerned too, as the foot infantry carried up the back. Even the twangs of half a thousand bow strings could be heard, releasing arrows of such magnitude, they blotted out the sun. Eru turned on his saddle as his men that headed out towards him and beyond. He turned to face House Califax, and their men, their cheering, their swords, and deal punishment to those who deserved it.

It was a blur. All around Eru, men went down, but whose they were, Eru could not recollect. One moment, Ser Daeron was right by him, on his own horse, hacking of the head of one man, and slicing of the wrist of another, before simultaneously blocking two swords. The next second, a nameless foot soldier replaced Daeron, getting cut down in seconds, his body a bloody meatball with an indistinguishable surcoat. Eru swung his mace until he tired. How many had he killed? He could not tell. In the end, he backed out, letting other men join the fight for now. Was it a miracle that some sword blade had not struck the fatal blow upon his iron-clad body? Eru began to feel the first tidings of fear. But he could feel his men's morale too. It was strong, enough so that he could feel the Aerellian's overpowering Califax. Eru knew the important task of a lord who commanded an army was to be able to tell when the battle was tipping. Another touch at the delicately balanced scale and Aerell would destroy Califax without even needing the reinforcements of Durinn and Reedwood.

Minutes passed by, nearing an hour, and still, the scale remained in balance. Neither side breaking through the front lines. Eru had slowed his horse down, letting more and more soldiers ride past him. _The ground slants downwards the farther down the battle you go..._ Eru thought. The slight dip went on for a steady amount, allowing Eru to view all the men before him. Both armies clashed with one another, pushing back and forth, so close to victory, yet so far. And it broke...  
Eru did not see it happen, however, he felt it. The balance did not shift in front of his eyes and it wasn't something on a small scale, such as a Califax soldier breaking into Aerell ranks. Rather, it happened literally behind him. A shout behind Eru brought the lord to swiftly rein in his horse, and with dawning horror, view what lay behind him.

Another Califax army, flanking the Aerellian's, before any Bornish or Durinn reinforcements had come. Fear spread in the form of a black shadow around the Aerellian's, engulfing them, smothering them all. Eru knew that only a few Aerellian's would walk out alive, if any. But they would fight to the last. With new-found energy, tinged with fright, Eru jumped back to battle, smashing his mace into shield's and helms, chests and swords. He knocked footmen to and fro upon his great horse. _It won't be enough._ No matter how hard Eru fought, he knew the Aerell would fall. Fall to traitor's who used trickery and lies to win a once honorable war. Eru filled himself with hate and began to feel satisfaction everytime it was his weapon that crushed a Califax b*tch to death. The resistance to Califax was futile in the end, as soldiers from the enemy house began to fully surround Aerell. Men could fight one way, or else they would be stabbed in the back from the other. Out of all his mixed emotions, Eru's hope finally caved in. His muscular hand went slack, releasing the weapon that had taken so many lives. _How sad that I end like this..._ Eru stared at the ground, on his knees, bowing to the traitors in front of him. It was ironic, for Eru ate his own words, and tears filled his eyes. _Will it be painful? What of Fin and Nilmaena? What of my faithful knight, Daeron?_ He had only seen Nilmaena since they had set up camp and had exchanged harsh words with Fin after he had attacked Deryck Gradius, another lordling. And all thought left Eru went a burst of sudden pain in his head hit him, and his vision disintegrated into darkness.

_Haldris Aerenor_

The leaves rustled brightly in the breeze, a glorious shade of green that pierced Haldris' eyes. The sky was never so beautiful, cloudless and blue. The sun smiled down upon the woman, warming her and hugging her close while a soft breeze cooled her neck. Haldris lay against a tree, resting on a thick bed of moss, cradling your youngest son, Laeragon, with her head against her other brave young man, Kendrin, her middle child. The weather wasn't the only gift given to Haldris. The taste of freedom touched her mouth, sweet and gentle. She had never appreciated freedom, being a highborn lady, with servant's to do her every bidding. Now, she yearned for it every second after she learned what it cost. How many poor, starving children sat shivering in some cold, desolate land, without mother and father, nourishment, and shelter? They certainly weren't as lucky as Haldris could've been. A few days ago, she would've imprisoned the man who'd dare tell her that a 'loyal' adviser of her's and her husband's was a traitor, would've thrown her into the dungeons. But now... reality was harsh, and her time as a captive had been harsher. Haldris could tell those few days, knowing what it was like to be a poorly born human being, would be with her forever. For the time being, at least, she could rest with her beloved son's.

Crooning Laeragon to sleep, she slid across the bed of moss to Kendrin, ruffling his hair and hugging him. "How can I ever thank you, Kendrin? You saved us all, my brave, brave boy."  
She kissed his forehead and sank into blissful sleep, leaning on Kendrin.

"Mother... mother... mother! Wake up!" Kendrin's face loomed in front of her, worried and tense. "I can hear horses. We have to ride, now."  
Laeragon held on to Kendrin's leg, on the verge of tears. "Mummm... I don't want to see the rats again. Mummm... let's go, I want to go now."  
Haldris stiffened and hurried over to her horse. She knew they could be found in a matter of seconds, so she slipped on bareback. Haldris had the privilege of being taught to ride at a young age, a requirement for all important ladies in the Aerenorian culture. Throwing Laeragon back into her lap, she waited for Kendrin to mount his horse before taking off with a speed that even her muscular son had trouble keeping up with.  
"THEY'RE THERE!" A man bearing the Aerenor coat of arms on his breastplate and gilded, winged helm came into view, a little closer than a hundred meters away.  
Another voice called back, slightly farther out, "stop them then, you buffoon! You want Dres to lock you up for missing your chance?!"  
Haldris pushed her horse, noticing the soldier behind her rear his giant of a warhorse up, before breaking out into a full-on gallop, using the long strides of his battle-bred mount to gain on her.  
_Into the trees, he can't follow us there with that massive thing._ Haldris certainly had the skill to weave between the obstacles of the forest, as did Kendrin. Their refuge was barely fifty meters away. Disaster struck simply too soon. Her horse gave a sudden jolt, as if it had stumbled. Looking for the source of the stumble, she saw the soldier chasing her had given up on his pursuit, and had his bow drawn, but remained completely still. Haldris knew he had already shot, and yet... her horse was not bleeding, not dying. In confusion, she studied herself, and it dawned on her. Her arms were coated in blood, staining her little boy, Laeragon. And the final realization came. She had not been hit at all, there was no pain, no death, no sign of blood gushing from a wound of her's. In horror, she stared at Laeragon just as she rode into the forest, and let out a ghastly scream. A long, slender arrow was lodged in his chest, and when she turned him around, she saw the silver metal of the steel tip protruding from her son's body. Blood encased him, crusty and red, and even as she galloped with no hands, trying with all hope and might to stop the flow of blood from Laeragon, she knew it was too late as his eyes slowly began to close. She stopped, too shocked to continue anymore. Kendrin drew up beside her, starting to speak. "Mother, we got away from the sol-..." His voice died away, choking up in an instant, taking in the whole scene in a millisecond.  
"Laeragon... "Laeragon... no... not my son, not my baby boy." Haldris hid her face in her dead son's chest, sobbing. She fell from her horse, tumbling onto the ground, holding his little body, shielding the corpse from the impact. Just barely, she could hear Laeragon's last words, hardly audible.  
Mum? Did we make it out? Are you okay? I can't see the stars, mum, let me see them before I d-..."  
His words were too faint to make out now, and she knew in her heart, that her favorite little boy, her son who always stayed at her side, her sun in her dark life, was gone.

She was all alone. Next to her son, but in a world, far beyond his. It was small, dark, lonely. Demons lurked on every corner and she ignored them all. She only saw her Laeragon, his dead, lifeless body in front her. Except here, his face was a pale white, with completely black eye, and a twitching body that had yellow, sharpened teeth. She could feel a different glow emanating from him, unlike the childlike, lovable glow before. It was malicious, unholy, cruel, cursed. He was unrecognizable as she hallucinated him in her mind. He spoke to her, softly strangely.  
"I am Laeragon. The Cursed One."

_Fingolfin Aerenor_

Fin's mind was blurred with pain. He couldn't see, couldn't think, with his mind so dazed. All he could do was remember...

What had happened?

It was on the battlefield? Fin could not remember. There were shouting men, ringing bells, screaming, crying, betrayal. An overwhelming surge of soldiers. Whose soldiers? Not his father's, not his friends, not his faithful Aerellian's...

A lump on his head? Someone had knocked him out. Hit him. Hard. Why was he not dead? Why so many questions? Light, white and piercing, filled his mind, hurting his eyes, if they were even open.

"Stupid lazy bastards. I'd have half a mind to chop your 'ead off, 'ere and now." A cruel, ranting voice echoed in Fin's mind. "I mean you, you lazy bollocks. Get up before I make you!" Fin wobbled to his feet, two black boots that looked miles away. He held his hands out in front of him and saw them wave in his vision. Slowly, ever so slowly, his surroundings came into view. Califax. So the traitors had beaten the first house to question them. Fin's house, Aerenor. He knew it had to be the rebels, he could see their banners along tall stone wall's that encased him, arching into a ceiling which obviously indicated they were inside a castle. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see two others, one in armor, the other in soft, linen clothes. But right in front of him, stood a fully armored rebel guard, a traitor sh*t. He wanted to slap the rank man, yet as he pulled out a hand he felt a clink of chains and knew he had been restrained.  
"Trying to escape, are we?" The guard in front of him sneered. "I wouldn't try that. Would you like you precious little whore of a sister to be killed while you run away, saving your own weasel arse? Maybe I'd f*ck 'er first though, by the looks of 'er." He licked his lips maliciously.  
Fin turned his head and saw clearly who the figures beside him were.  
His father, Eru Aerenor, the lord of the great house Aerenor, and his own sister, Nilmaena, also Eru's daughter. He could see Eru's face redden in frustration. "Don't you touch my family, or I swear I'll kill you, lowborn peasant!"  
"Then how about a lord executes you and your daughter instead of a rat, Lord Aerenor." A cackling voice rang out on the stone walls of the Califax settlement. Fin couldn't control cold shivers vibrate down his spine.  
"Lord Gordon Califax at your service, Eru. Though I think you're rather at mine, don't you?"  
Fin grimaced. _The lord of worms himself approaches._  
"Ah yes, and it's little Fin. The last time I saw you, you must've been ten. And Nilmaena, a woman full-grown of ten and nine! Impressive indeed. Almost the whole lot of you in my hands." The Lord of Califax laughed harshly. "Don't worry, little lord. I have no need for your wife and sons. Or should I say _son_?"  
Eru's head whipped around to stare the other lord in the face, as Fin felt a dawning sense of horror. "Who? Wh-..." Eru's voice cracked with emotion.  
Califax grinned broadly. "Alas, I always knew that Greckian Dres was an untrustworthy adviser, Eru. You should've too. Of course, you wouldn't have heard of the news back at your on castle as you were at war, but... my own men have way's of getting their information. Haldris, Kendrin, and Laeragon locked up. Haldris raped. Kendrin killing a guard and helping his family escape. And Laeragon, poor child, shot by an arrow just as they escaped. How unfortunate, hmmm?" Lord Califax knew he had struck a blow. No one said a word until the silence was broken by a sharp clap from Gordon's hands. Abruptly, a squadron of dark grey armored men clambered in, clad with spears, axes, and shields.  
"Do you know where we are, young Fin?" Lord Califax turned away from Eru's tearful face to smile at Fin with a glowing radiance.  
"In your castle in the Califax lands, my lord?" Fin replied hesitantly.  
"Wrong, childish Aerenorian. Wrong as always. Wrong because you were idiotic enough to believe we wouldn't cheat to win a battle, and wrong because, no, we are not in Califax lands."  
Fin studied Gordon carefully as the sly man chose his next words.  
"We are in Narule, Fin, I've just redecorated the castle with my own banners.. _Narule._ You will be put in front of a crowd right outside, along with your father and sister, in just a some short hours. Lord Narule will be their, some of my bannerlords, certainly many of the commonfolk, and many guards to keep the place in check." Califax gave of an air of evil confidence, savoring the newfound knowledge that sent more waves of shock into the noble Aerenor family.  
Nilmaena spoke. "Than we will tell the people of what lying traitor's the highborn in this kingdom are. They would fight for a just cause."  
Lord Califax doubled with wheezes. "Well girl, it looks like you could take a man easily, but with such innocence, I wouldn't believe you've had a man. I'll do you the honors, then?" Though phrased as a question, Fin knew it to be a command.  
Nilmaena flushed and muttered in a low voice. "You daren't touch me. I shan't let you, monster."  
Her voice was shaking with fear, however, and Eru still remained silent, still too shocked to even fend for his own daughter's safety.  
The Lord of Califax shrugged carelessly and pointed his finger's at two guards. "Impudence, my dear. You must be taught a lesson. You two, being her to my bedchamber. If you do a bad job, whore, I'll have your brother and father killed. Don't struggle or scream either. I don't like whining sluts, especially pretty ones like you."  
With that, the lord walked towards a wrought iron door, slamming the door behind him to silence and walking out into another passage into the castle, leaving a sobbing Eru, furious Nilmaena, and silent Fin...

_Daeron Culvin_

Daeron lashed out, kicking the man in the chest, forcing him to the ground. Unsheathing his sword, he spun it above his head, and in a swift movement, the other man's head rolled on the ground, coated with his own blood.

"Stay your hand in order of the King Califax!"  
More came, merciless servants riding armored beasts, wielding their steel. Daeron bounced into his own stallion and bolted, making for the forest where the cover was friend.  
"Stop the damned man, stop him you fools!" The shouts followed immediately, chasing Daeron faster than the men themselves did.  
Panting heavily, Daeron pushed his horse onward, sweaty with his recent fight. While riding, his mind slipped back to the past...

"TODAY, WE ARE JUSTICE!"  
Daeron bowed his head, listening to Eru's words. With a gradual momentum, hoovebeats began, swords rang, and the brave Aerenorian Blade headed into battle.

Leaves whipped at his face as Daeron rode at a high-speed under the trees. He supposed that he should've felt lucky, being on of the few to survive the Aerell massacre. He supposed that Eru, Fin, and Nilmaena were all dead. Either that, or they were captured. Were they hostages? Daeron shook his head clear of his questions as another yell came floating by.  
"Were getting close!"  
Daeron's brow creased. There were at least three following him. He could not afford them even catching a glimpse of him. As he rounded a corner, his emotions sunk even deeper.  
_A river... why, of all that I could come upon, why a river?_ Daeron stared resolutely at the obstacle that lay in front of him, fast-flowing and muddy. Rustling in the forest behind him drew nearer, and time began to tick away as Daeron made his decision.

The water was cold and fast, far too much for his horse. Fortunately, he had had the mind to take of his armor and leave the horse behind. As he was swept away, he prayed for his good lord, Eru.

This was not the end. It was merely a new beginning.

**A Brief Summary of the Aerenor House**

House Aerenor is a house a millenia old and has many descendants belonging to it due to the fact of they're preference to bedding. The original lord of this house was the nephew of Lord Durinn, who never claimed the chance to become king.

In the War of Blood, Eru Aerenor killed Terevin Rervis of House Rervis, a rebel house that opposed King Durinn. Upon his victory, Eru was awarded with a title of lordship and became Lord Eru Aerenor, the first of his name. He was given the lands of Aerell, and is of Aerenorian blood. However his people in the surrounding towns are not nobles and are known as Aerellians.

House Aerenor's motto is 'Unite as one, fight as one, live as one.'

The Lord of Aerenor:  
-Lord Eru Aerenor, the third of his name.

His wife:  
-Lady Haldris Aerenor, the third of her name.

His children:  
-Fingolfin Aerenor (the eldest son: ten and six) the second of his name.  
-Kendrin Aerenor (second eldest son: ten and one) the first of his name  
-Laeregon Aerenor (youngest son: eight) the sixth of his name.  
-Nilmaena Aerenor (daughter: ten and eight) the first of her name.

His squires:  
-Dresart Stone (a bastard of one and six)  
-Zenithus Hill (a child of a knight, aged one and five)

His Aerenorian Blades:  
-Ser Herwidar Kaeldrin the Swift (aged twenty and two, renowned for his fast sword skills)  
-Ser Endray Rerquaithe the Great (a legendary knight of twenty, with the strength of a 'full-grown boar')  
-Ser Vendro Asdil the Young (a skilled knight only one and seven, a friend of Fingolfin)  
-Ser Welgon Gradius the Cautious (a knight of twenty and six, who is famed for his defensive tactics)  
-Commandant Ser Daeron Culvin the Champion (a loyal knight of twenty, one of the best of his time)

His adviser:  
-Greckian Dres (a clever and crafty man of thirty and one, once accused of minor treason...)

His maester:  
-Maester Wilson (aged seventy and four, a calm and witty maester, from the Citadel of Hallister)

**Other Major Houses**

-House Reedwood (In Alliance with Aerenor)

-House Narule (Positioning Unknown)

-House Durinn (The House of Kingship, Being Overrun By Traitors)

-House Califax (In Aerenor's Eyes, the Traitor House)

_(Author's Note: Technically, this story is not over. Perhaps it will never be. But whether or not the rest will be heard... that's up to the reader)._


End file.
